


Unhappily Married Crank

by orphan_account



Category: Great Comet - Fandom, Great comet of 1812, Natasha Pierre and the Great Comet of 1812 - Fandom, War and Peace - Fandom
Genre: Angst, Drunkness, Gen, Regret, Resolution, Suicidal Thoughts, self hatred
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-26
Updated: 2017-06-26
Packaged: 2018-11-19 07:25:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 857
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11308572
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: A quick oneshot of Pierre reflecting events in his life.





	Unhappily Married Crank

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⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀Andrey had forewarned Pierre of the tortures of marriage; The most beautiful dame could be your forever bond, and, being a man as impatient and curt, that forever eagerly drove Andrey with some form of boredom and disgust. Pierre never took a liking to marriage (perhaps due to his parents lack of one and the youth [particularly Natasha] seeming to thrive around him) so he assured his old friend he wouldn't partake in such a commitment. Of course, such advice came at a poor time for Pierre to be a man of his word. His father passed of that night - his dying breath dedicated to love his illegitimate son for the first time in his life - and encouraged Pierre to live, live gaily and wholesome.  
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⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀That, of course, didn't last long.  
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⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀His beautiful blonde cousin, Helene (she spelt it fancily to show the stress from Helen to a Hell-lane type of noise; Pierre didn't care enough to waste his ink) came as a deceitful comfort in his time of aching. Andrey was sent to war the night after and he wouldn't force himself onto the Rostova family, as inviting as they spoke. From Andrey's lips the assurance of land and money had been given to him, so of course the aging man went in the direction of his newfound wealth. To his current delight, his stunning cousin (and wife-to-be) tagged along.  
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⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀Once they had sworn themselves to each other, things seemed to take a turn for the worst. Pierre chided himself for not seeing it earlier; Helene only went into the marriage for her wealth benefits. (If he tried to break it off, she'd leave with her shares.) Oh, he had been so foolish! Masked with the desire to be loved and to love the enchantress that was Helene, he forced himself into a marriage. ("I order you to be supremely happy," Natalie returned when he informed her. If only he could obey such an order.)  
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⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀So his curt envision of a prosperous lift flatlined, leaving him to his plentiful amount of rum, papers, and ink. He sat rather lost in his fifth drink. Despite the need to escape his riddled emotions, he did not smile nor feel even an iota better. All he felt was the need to vomit; Perhaps a mixture of disgust in himself and the godforsaken wine that tasted like the dirtiest feet in all of Moscow jumped on a bunch of dried out grapes and bones and handed it to the winery without a day of aging.  
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⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀And, despite his lack of sobriety, a million thoughts rushed through his troubled mind. Is this how he was to live? Distracted only by wine and willingly neglectful towards the wife whom had put him in a position? She had all of the pieces on the board and he was down to three choices and one piece -- No matter what he did, she emerged victorious, loved, and wealthy. Pierre could already feel the townspeople making his love life their business and offering him pity for his unhappiness. Perhaps he was just doomed for sadness all along, especially with the damned war going about. Men were so-called heroically falling after so tediously fighting over some ridiculous bullshit an adolescent could figure out. Violence, in the middle-aged male's opinion, was tedious and quite /pathetic/. He refused to partake in such activities, but he wasn't exactly eagerly bouncing around and preventing anyone from doing so. What others did was not up to him and, frankly, the more out of the way he was from the bloody battles, the better.  
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⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀With a hiccup, he lifted his quill and dipped it into his drying ink for a mere second before moving over to his parchment. The ink dripped all over his sleeve as he practically embraced it, his head lowered as though he were caved in and protecting the fresh sheet. It smelled of nothing, as far as Pierre could tell. Perhaps his lack of scent was due to the burning aroma in his mouth from the treacherous alcohol; His breath was likely just as intoxicating, much as his wife /had/ been to him earlier.  
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⠀⠀ Perhaps that's where his problem lay; He saw the many gilds in life but never once looked behind the gold of it. Pierre desired to be seen as the cautious type, but now he'd be pitied and labeled as foolish -- which, unfortunately, wasn't incorrect. He released a sigh and fell back in his cushioned chair after writing such a note, the ink drawing out his mindset and emotions towards himself and whatever saddened version of life he might have left to lead. If was fortunate enough (he never was) the alcohol would waste him away, much as it had to Andrey's mental father.  
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⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀Pierre raised an eyebrow as the parchment now wreaking of the abysmal scent of ink sinfully collaborated with the hellish wine that had sickened the old man. He stood as to get away with it, heading towards the bookshelf (a strained one at that) for some sort of touch of reality or sanity. He wasn't quite sure what he was hoping for.  
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End file.
